The Limits of Power
by piquant-eye
Summary: He laughed, stepping closer to her. "When I'm finished with you …" Hermione surprised him, and herself, by stepping closer too. "Try it," she hissed, giving him a very fierce look. Her wand was a few centimetres away from his exposed throat. / In this Tomione, one learns both what power can bring you and what it can't, no matter how desperately you may wish it. No time travel.
1. Chapter 1

**||...…Brief Author's Note…...||**

So. Another Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger pairing. Well, as much as I am a fan, I have become frustrated lately. I hate to think of Hermione as a blushing fool who allows herself to "fall in love" with a ruthless boy whom she knows is capable of mass murder. I doubt she would even call it "love" whatever she feels, _if_ she feels anything at all.

This story is just an attempt to scratch an itch, which is to say, I am trying to satisfy my obsession with the possibility of two such unlikely characters feeling any sort of attraction at all. Many well-written stories have made Hermione and Tom fight on familiar battlegrounds: both characters are fiercely intelligent and competitive; there is also the irresistible attraction of her _secret_ (whether of the future or something else) and his imperious good looks; the influence of a good nature on Tom's violent ambitions; and last but not least, the teeny tiny awkward complication (usually glossed over) that Tom _hates_ muggle-borns and muggles whilst Hermione, the passionate founder of S.P.E.W, is, well, a muggle-born witch herself.

In my humble opinion, people don't change that easily.

No time travel. Set in the 1940s. It's like an AU where Hermione is in the same year at Hogwarts as Tom Riddle, James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Other characters include: Draco Malfoy, his older brother Abraxas Malfoy (yes, I know) and well, some others that I may introduce as I go along.

 _Basically, I have taken great liberty with the characters and their time frames, just for fun._

* * *

 **The Limits of Power**

 **by piquant-eye**

* * *

 _Grindelwald seen roaming Scottish Isles_ , ran the headlines on the front page of _The Daily Prophet._

The mood in the Great Hall was sombre. Apart from the quiet clicks of forks and spoons on their breakfast plates, most were not talking. The head table was nearly empty, with only Professor Slughorn and Professor Northwood chatting quietly. Headmaster Dippet and Professor Dumbledore were notably absent. Hermione looked up from her bowl of Ingleberries when she heard an audible chuckle from the Slytherin table. It was Riddle, of course. Well, actually to be fair, the culprit was one of his usually sullen cronies, who were always accompanying him. He himself was sitting with his back admirably straight, legs crossed at the knee, reading a thick leather-bound book, pausing to hold a cup of tea to his lips.

James interrupted her thoughts in his usual way: "Hermione, I was thinking…"

"Yes?"

He looked a bit sheepish as he ran one of his large hands through his sandy hair (with the result that it was more dishevelled than before, though she knew he knew this).

"We have Quidditch this afternoon, I was wondering if-"

"Your Transfiguration essay?" Hermione asked simply.

"Well, no, actually."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, catching the eye of Remus, who just laughed and shook his head.

"I was wondering, afterwards, if you would like to go, you know," he swallowed, " _out._ "

"Out where? It's freezing."

Amidst her confusion, she heard renewed laughter from Remus and also Sirius, who had just walked over to their table. His barking laughter was unmistakable. In fact, the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team was laughing.

James looked even more uncomfortable, though he tried to hide it as he reached out and touched her hair.

Then, as the possibility dawned on her, it felt like an unwelcome brush of cold air. "Oh, James. I, uh, actually had plans to go to the lib-"

Stunned silence came over the table and he jumped up, "Oh, look, uh, I understand perfectly, uh, don't concern yourself anymore about it."

Before she could reply, James had sped away from the table to the doors of the Great Hall.

Thinking about it, as she walked to the first class of the day, she felt slightly bad for him. She realised that with all the late evenings she had spent in the Gryffindor common room, helping him write his essays and debating whether there were actual merpeople in the Great Lake, he might have thought she was leading him on. They were friends, so Hermione still felt surprised (in a miss-the-last-step-on-the-stairs sort of way) that he had been thinking otherwise.

Her feeling of surprise soured during the day and she felt something more like annoyance as she noticed a very familiar face in the crowd turn abruptly away from her on the second-floor corridor. Why couldn't they just be friends? She supposed that his passionate stance on elf-rights was just a cover, an excuse for her to give him a chance, perhaps an opportunity. Thinking about it further, it was suspicious that he seemed to agree with her on every issue, from the inhumanity of using Dementors to torture Azkaban prisoners to the way students were allowed to experiment on, and kill if only by accident, live Olibrite pixies (sentient, intelligent creatures!).

It had all been a farce, she realised, and her annoyance gave way to embarrassment and betrayal. To think that she had allowed herself to believe that he, the boy who fell asleep in History of Magic _every single time_ , was the first person to appreciate what she thought.

Feeling bitter and quite alone, not for the first time this year, she found herself in the library during lunch. Sighing, she strode through the bookshelves, stopping briefly to smile and wave to Amelia Goode, a nice girl who shared their dorm room. She passed the section on _Harmful Spells and Ways to Deflect Them_. There, at the very back behind some bookshelves, was a hidden alcove with a small wooden desk and chair, with a view looking out onto the Quidditch pitch. It was her favourite spot.

But today, she noticed the spot was taken, which was highly unusual. There was a bottle of ink and a glossy dark-green quill in a glass stand sitting on the desk already, as well as a pile of three or four voluminous books.

Huffing, she decided that this was definitely a _very_ trying day. She turned around and was about to try the opposite end of the library when she found herself face to face with a boy whose shocked face she recognised immediately.

"Riddle," she said, nodding her head stiffly in acknowledgement, as she began to walk around him in the narrow space between the bookshelves.

She was surprised to find that she was stopped by a hand on her arm. Bewildered, she turned to face him again.

"Yes?" she said impatiently, when she realised they had been staring at each other for a few seconds.

Riddle shook his head. "I'm just surprised, Granger, that's all."

"Enlighten me."

"No one knows about this little spot in the library. I come here everyday."

"Really? How is that? I come here everyday too and I never see you."

He looked as if he didn't believe her.

"I come here _everyday_ , Riddle, I don't appreciate you playing games with me."

She made to keep walking when he spoke again, in that curiously calm voice he had.

"What usually happens during the hours of ten to twelve on Wednesday mornings, then?"

She spun around. A moment passed before she realised he was testing her. "I don't know. I'm not here then, am I? I have Herbology. On Sundays at eleven o'clock, however, Madam Pince usually comes along and dusts the shelves, although she always forgets to do this spot."

They both looked at the thick layer of grey dust covering the bookshelves.

Hermione sighed, trying to hide her impatience. "I don't ever come here during lunch. I'll find another desk."

She walked quickly away, her books and parchment floating in the air behind her.

* * *

The next morning, she walked out of Potions only to almost bump into Riddle standing outside the classroom. Assuming he was waiting for someone, she continued down the corridor. He managed to catch up to her easily, despite the fact that she was striding along at an almost unmatchable pace.

"Granger, I have something to ask you."

She stopped in surprise. This was the most they had ever talked to one another.

"What is it," she said wearily, glancing at a small silver watch.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" he asked courteously.

"Charms."

"That's on the way to Dippet's office. I can walk you there."

"Why are you seeing the Headmaster?"

He ignored her question. His voice was smooth and quiet: "Listen, I was in the library the other day and heard something … strange. A noise. I was wondering if you'd ever heard or seen something out of place in that part of the library."

He looked calm and polite, as he always did, his expression thoughtful and puzzled. His eyes, however, showed that he was curious. Very curious.

Hermione reflected briefly that whatever he was curious about, it must be something particularly compelling if he had been willing to waste time by cornering her after Potions and even walking her to Charms.

She stared at him and he stared back. Neither of them blinked. She broke her stare and continued to walk, trying to ignore Riddle who was still by her side.

"I just want to know if this is something we need to alert a teacher about. Goodness knows, this castle is old and full of hidden things that could turn out to be … unfriendly."

They had reached her classroom. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said stiffly. She didn't really know why she disliked Riddle, couldn't quite put her finger on it. He was a popular boy, at least among the Slytherins, who treated him like he was their leader or something like that, and he was liked well enough by the other Houses. She was never in any of his classes as it had long been a rule that Gryffindors and Slytherins never shared classes – "Too risky," Professor Dumbledore had once wisely advised the Headmaster. But she did know that he was rather a teacher's pet. With all the teachers.

Then again, they had not really had the opportunity to meet. Why would they? Gryffindors and Slytherins avoided each other when they weren't furiously duelling behind the backs of passing teachers, or, Merlin knows, battling it out on the Quidditch pitch. Most Slytherins, in fact, did not deign to waste time on open hostility. They treated with silent contempt any who were not within their tight pureblood circles. Perhaps she distrusted Riddle because those very Slytherins worshipped him like he was the greatest wizard ever to set foot in Hogwarts. She thought to herself that he may very well be the best _wizard_ , but she was definitely the best _witch_ and, probably, the best student.

"I'm sorry, Riddle, I realise I was a bit rude just now. I really have to go." Without waiting for him to reply, she stepped through the door.

She hadn't realised she was late until she saw that almost everyone was seated at their desks, except her. There was only one spot left and it was next to James, of all people. At least, he looked as uncomfortable as she was.

During the lesson, it became apparent that news of James' rejection had spread fast, somehow, when a rather haughty girl by the name of Claire Dubois 'accidentally' spilt ink all over her parchment. Angry, Hermione said tightly, "Claire, that's an hour's worth of work you just destroyed."

Waiting for an apology, Hermione was surprised to look up to see Claire fuming. "Who do you think you are," she replied, rather nastily.

At least three other girls were looking at her, including Josephine Tumby. Their stares were quite cold, indifferent. Hermione felt like she had been doused with ice water.

"Someone who should be angrier than you are," she replied. "What's the matter with you?"

Her pink lips quivering, Claire pointed to James, who tried to bury his head, unsuccessfully, in his parchment, scribbling furiously. What he was writing, Hermione could not possibly imagine, since he never paid attention in any class except for Defence Against the Dark Arts. "One would think," Claire continued in that snide way, _"_ that you see yourself as _quite_ the catch _._ Which is simply _hilarious_ -"

Hermione slammed her book shut. "You have some _nerve,"_ she snapped. Everyone looked over at them now, including Professor Northwood. She rarely made a sound in class, except to answer questions, and it seemed by the look on their faces that they were all astounded by the emergence of Hermione Granger's _temper_.

Flicking her wand over her things, they flew up and arranged themselves neatly in her bag, the cap on her ink bottle screwing itself shut along the way. Without another word, Hermione, stood up and announced quietly, "I will be switching streams, Professor. I hope you understand." She looked pointedly at Claire and James, who flushed and looked as if he wanted to speak, "I don't have the time nor the inclination to be distracted by such pettiness in class. Especially when exams are only two months away."

Without a backward glance, and ignoring James who tried to grab her arm as she passed, she strode quickly to the back of the classroom and, seizing the heavy door handle, she stepped out, slamming the door loudly enough that the sound reverberated along the corridor.

If it had been any other student, Professor Northwood would have dragged her back by the ears. But it seemed that he had been as shocked as everyone else.

She decided briefly to go back to the common room, only to halt mid-stride when she realised that the class would end soon and she would have to face all of them again. Turning, she decided to go to the seventh-floor.

Pacing next to the empty stone wall, she muttered to herself, "I need a place to vent and- and be angry and … I miss my parents and _goddamnit_ I hate everyone."

A small red door appeared and she disappeared gratefully into the sanctuary of the Room of Requirement.

* * *

When she slipped back into the common room, just before curfew, she was not expecting to see the whole Quidditch team lounging about before the fireplace. As she walked across the room to the girls' dormitory, James leapt up. Sirius and Remus exchanged looks.

"Hermione!"

She considered ignoring him but resisted the temptation to avoid the inevitable.

"I, uh, I'm sorry about what happened in, uh, Charms today. Don't mind Claire-" he faltered as she narrowed her eyes. Sirius rolled his own eyes to the back of his head. "Honestly, you'd think he'd be better at talking to girls," he whispered not so quietly to the burly boy next to him, Nuben, the Keeper of the team. Remus shushed him.

"I- I mean, look-"

"Do you really think that house-elves should be freed?" she interrupted.

"What? Um, Hermione-"

"Do you really believe that witches and wizards ought to make peace with the giants and stop treating them like third-class citizens?"

"No-"

"Then everything you told me was a lie," Hermione's eyes flashed. "You lied to me about everything, so that what? So you can get into my pants?"

"What? No! Hermione!" James looked stricken, his eyes wide. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, dirt-streaked as they were. Their team practice had ended three hours ago, she recalled, which had to mean that he had waited for her for that long, not showering or changing as she knew he probably longed to do.

The boys whistled lowly in commiseration.

"I thought I had finally met someone who thought the same way I did. But, clearly, the joke was on me."

She allowed her eyes to glisten a little for the first time as the hurt welled up inside. He had hurt her more than she herself had suspected.

"You don't understand- I only said those things because I-"

"What you _like_ me? Just like how you, Sirius," she said, jabbing at the dark-haired boy who stopped grinning immediately, " _liked_ Isobel last week before dumping her cruelly so you could _fuck_ Beatrice. Oh, I know," she said, voice continuing to rise, as they flinched at the word, "how you boys talk on the pitch."

In the heavy silence, she turned and walked up to her dormitory.

* * *

Hermione usually had Potions at nine a.m. but she slept in. She will not be attending the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff classes. Merlin help her, she would argue her way into making Dippet concede. She knew they would talk about her, eyeball her every move surreptitiously, or conspire against her to make her patch things up with James. She knew that Sirius was a lady-boy, much more than James, who had more dignity. Still, it was the principle of it. One does not lie, or worse, manipulate, your way into going 'out' with someone. Yes, that was it: she did not like to be manipulated.

At almost a quarter to ten, she went to the Headmaster's Office. The door to his office was merely an archway (he had an "open door" policy, whatever that meant) that opened out into a waiting room. As soon as she entered, a large goose-feather quill and parchment whizzed across the room stopping just short of her nose.

"Do you have an appointment?" A disembodied female voice asked in clipped, business-like tones. Hermione couldn't work out whether the voice came from the quill or the parchment or from some other place. Nevertheless, she replied, "No. But I am here to-"

"Have a seat, please, Miss Granger." The quill wrote something on the parchment, presumably her name, and whizzed back to its position beside the second archway, which led to the Headmaster's Office.

Annoyed, she sat herself down on one of the colourfully embroidered Arabian cushions, complete with tassels. She didn't know whether it was more comfortable to cross her legs or stretch them out on the floor, or draw her knees up to her chin. In the end she had just settled on crossing her legs, when her name was called.

Walking across the thick oriental carpet and through the second archway, she passed through a short corridor displaying various artefacts in glass cabinets (including a mummified hand, she noted with a shiver) and finally arrived at Dippet's rather large desk. It was surrounded by a simply enormous collection of books and of course, portraits of previous Headmasters, stretching back all the way to the year 1308.

"Ah yes, Miss Granger. What may I do for you?" Dippet, a rather short man with a fastidiously kempt beard, smiled kindly at one of his favourite pupils, a little knowingly.

"Yes, as I am sure you may have heard, I would like to request to change streams, sir."

"Change streams?"

"Yes, sir. To the Slytherin-Ravenclaw shared classes."

He looked thoughtfully down at her, clasping his small hands over the front of his rather lavish robes. "We do not normally allow this, unless in exceptional circumstances. May inquire as to the reason?"

"My fellow members of House are giving me a hard time, sir. I only wish to concentrate on my studies for the upcoming exams."

When she mentioned exams, he smiled and said, "Of course! I should have guessed. Our Miss Granger is a fine pupil. The very best."

She smiled too, crossing her fingers in the pockets of her school robes.

Dippet moved to sit down at his desk, adjusting his little gold-rimmed spectacles. He raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

"Sir?"

"Off you go, Miss Granger! Your schedule has already been updated. Best of luck for your studies." He smiled again and turned back to his reading.

It was definitely not allowed at all for students to change streams, the school rules were clear. Smiling and shaking her head at his blatant favouritism, Hermione let out a sigh of relief as she walked out of Dippet's office, ignoring the portrait of Sir Wickleby who, as always, shouted out, "One should _bow_ or _curtsey_ on the way out. Manners, I say!"

Taking out her timetable, she saw that it had indeed updated itself. Instead of Potions at nine, she had it at two in the afternoon, with Professor Slughorn in the dungeons.

* * *

It took a while to find the classroom, as she had never been down near the dungeons. But she followed a few Slytherins, who looked like they were also in sixth year, down a few passages. They looked back suspiciously at her, but did not stop or approach her.

The dungeons were indeed gloomy. The room they were in had a low ceiling and there were metal bars on the windows, which looked out into the grey-green depths of the Great Lake. They were, of course, underground and the waters of the lake cast a sinister green glow that rippled across the ceiling and walls of the classroom. She sat in a random seat towards the very back and set up her parchment and quill.

The classroom filled up quietly, with none of the hustle and noise that Hermione had been used to. Ravenclaws were chatty usually, but they walked in with a studious air holding their books against their chests. They sat and filled the seats on the other side of the room and it wasn't until it was too late that Hermione realised she had sat on the wrong side. She would be sitting next to a Slytherin.

Sighing deeply, she made room for a tall dark-haired Slytherin who, after a moment, sat down quietly next to her. Looking at him, she realised it was Riddle.

He caught her staring and he gave her a courteous smile. "I didn't realise you could switch streams."

"You can't usually, but I spoke to the Headmaster and he allowed it."

Riddle looked at her for a long moment, without saying anything. Of course, he knew too that an exception had clearly been made.

"Did you switch because of someone in your class?" He asked, resuming his unravelling of parchment and uncapping his bottle of ink.

"Yes," Hermione answered shortly, making it clear that she did not wish to talk about it any further.

She needn't have because Professor Slughorn had entered at that moment, a few minutes late.

"Well, well, well. I see we have a new Slytherin!" he beamed, winking at Hermione. "Who is, I hear, _excellent_ at potion-making."

Hermione didn't bother to correct him because Riddle spoke up next to her, "Professor, Miss Granger here is actually in Gryffindor."

"So I heard, so I heard," Slughorn said smiling affectionately at Riddle who returned the smile almost as warmly. His face looked rather nice when it lit up like that, Hermione observed. "Yet today, she is a Slytherin!" Slughorn moved to the front of the classroom and waved his wand. A large black cauldron appeared at every desk. "Now, it is our mission this afternoon to brew a potion that can allow one to breathe underwater. Ten points to whoever correctly guesses the name of this potion!"

Hermione raised her hand, and so did Riddle. But for the first time in any class she'd been in, quite a few other hands were raised as well. Professor Slughorn swept his gaze across the classroom.

"Now, now, let's give our newest member a chance."

" _Subaquaenus aspiratare,_ " Hermione answered.

"Well," said Tom next to her, "It could also be _aquamentis fieris_."

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed Slughorn, clapping his hands together. "Yes, now-"

Hermione interrupted him. "It could be _aquamentis_ but that takes months to brew whilst _subaquaenus aspiratare_ takes only a couple of hours, depending on the skill of the potion-maker. Of course, we could all save ourselves the trouble and just use gillyweed."

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "Well, if one had certain pre-prepared ingredients at hand, such as Horntail saliva, _aquamentis_ _fieris_ could also be made in a few hours. It is far more efficient as an underwater breathing potion anyway, it gives you gills and fins. Whereas the _subaquaenous –_ "

"-Doesn't give you gills and fins, yes. But such transformations are frequently dangerous. There have been cases where-"

"-people have died, yes, but those cases are far and few between. Just look up the McGill case in 1922-"

Their debate was interrupted by a loud cough. Hermione looked up to see a rather bemused Slughorn. The rest of the class had turned in their seats to look at her. The Ravenclaws looked politely curious, while the Slytherins mostly wore annoyed expressions.

"Now so it happens, our potion today is neither. We are brewing a potion that mimics the effect of a bubble-head charm, except it lasts longer and is more durable. Nevertheless, ten points each for an outstanding discussion!"

If he was annoyed, Riddle didn't show it. For the rest of the class, Hermione and Riddle worked together silently but efficiently. He gathered the ingredients from the cupboard and she sprinkled ground crumpet horn into their simmering cauldron and stirred twice while waiting for the beetle juice and boggart flesh which he carefully sliced with a small silver knife.

Hermione quickly realised that Riddle was Slughorn's favourite student. And that Riddle, in turn, appeared to be really quite charming. He excelled at potions, no doubt. Their potion turned exactly the required colour of dead autumn leaves before sheering out into a glimmering pink, releasing long thin tendrils of steam.

But other than the thrill of receiving full marks, as did her diligent partner of course, it was an otherwise uneventful lesson.

* * *

It was just after dinner. Hermione ran up the stairs to the seventh-floor. Pacing before the stone wall, she entered the large wooden door that appeared. This time, it was a large high-ceilinged room with rows upon rows of books lining the walls. There was a small cheery little fireplace that crackled when she approached and she threw herself down into the soft armchair that appeared before her.

Placing her feet up on the wooden stool, which also appeared, she lay back with her eyes closed.

This state of near bliss was ultimately broken when she heard a quiet cough behind her.

Whirling so fast she felt her neck crick, she found herself doubting her own eyes.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she exclaimed at Riddle who was lying reposed on a dark green embroidered chaise longue, a book on his chest, his wand held loosely in the long fingers of his right hand.

He looked at her thoughtfully, though she could see a glimmer of her own annoyance reflected in his eyes. "I might ask you the same."

Groaning, Hermione sat down, her back to him. She whispered to herself, "Why, oh, why. Just _wanted_ some _peace_."

"How do you know about the Room of Requirement?" he asked, pretending not to have heard.

"I don't know. How do you know about it?"

And all at once, the most surprising thing happened. He stood up abruptly and his voice, which had been calm and quiet, slipped into a cold hiss. "I don't appreciate you playing games with me _, Granger._ "

Turning around, as if she thought he had been replaced by someone else, she was alarmed to see him just an arm's length away. His eyes were dark and furious. Normally quite handsome – although she wondered why she was thinking about that now – his face seemed quite transformed by rage. And although his features remained fixed in a neutral expression, apart from a slight curl of his lips, it was his eyes that changed everything. It was the glint in his eyes that made him look so terribly cruel.

She stood up and took a step back, gasping when he strode forward and roughly shook her shoulders.

"Tell me, you silly girl."

Whilst she had been momentarily struck by the sudden drop of his mask, she did not allow herself to flinch when he shook her. Steeling herself, she lifted her wand and he suddenly flew away from her and crashed into a bookshelf, thick books raining down upon him.

With a hiss, he flicked his wand and the books stopped falling and instead hovered, facing her with deadly intent. Hermione managed to throw up a quick shield around her as the books spat out paper daggers, which she knew were as sharp as real ones.

She managed to laugh, while holding up her shield, as he sent flaming books her way.

"I knew there was something off about you," she said.

He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly. "You know nothing, stupid girl."

Her annoyance exploded into rage. "Don't. Call me. That. You. Evil. _Boy._ " She hissed also, with every word hurling a new curse. They sped towards him so quickly and viciously that he had no time to erect a shield. Instead, he ducked the first three and sent a cascade of books falling down in front of him, the rest of her curses hitting them and causing them to variously go up in flames or explode in a furious flurry of paper.

For the first time, he allowed his features to twist in rage and snarling, he broke her shield with a well-timed spell.

Yelling, Hermione dodged, and sprinted for the door.

He got there before she did, which forced her to back away, her wand still aimed at him.

"Not bad for a girl. But I can hurt you as easily as the others."

She bristled at his arrogance. "Try it and I will make you wish you hadn't," she said just as viciously.

He laughed coldly, stepping closer to her. "When I'm finished with you …"

Hermione surprised him, and herself, by stepping closer too. "Try it," she hissed, giving him a very fierce look. Her wand was a few centimetres away from his exposed throat. So was his, she realised.

They glared at each other, face to face. Both silently refused to back down, like a pair of snakes, coiled and tense, unmoving, ready to strike.

Up this close, Hermione could see his face in detail. From the arch of his dark eyebrows, to the slight flush of his usually pale cheeks. She found herself studying his face, the way his eyelashes cast long shadows, the surprisingly full lips, the mystifying symmetry of his features … and the large dark eyes that were studying her just as closely.

Abruptly, he turned away and stalked out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione felt vindicated. She _knew_ that Riddle had been more than the soft-spoken, studious boy everyone seemed to find quietly charismatic. It was his voice, his expressions, the casual gestures of courtesy that girls blushingly accepted, like pulling out a chair or holding open a door … all of that was too _nice_. Almost meticulously so. Of course, there were other hints, like the way horrible boys like Lestrange looked at him with careful respect. Rodolphus Lestrange was a hulking brutish boy, who towered over even the seventh years. He was known for casting vicious hexes on those who crossed him, particularly first years. And now, Riddle's admittedly very convincing façade had fallen away. Although, it had been so quick, so shocking in the moment, she wondered whether she had only dreamt it after falling exhausted into her armchair in the Room of Requirement. Especially since Riddle now continued to act as if their furious duel had never happened.

She found herself pausing, when she heard him say politely to a blushing Victoria Swindle (a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Slytherin girl whose father was the Assistant Minister of Magic), "Would you like me to hold that for you?" Or when he laughed quite charmingly at one of Professor Slughorn's over-done, not-very-funny-at-all jokes – "This potion here is Amortentia. Anyone caught siphoning a little out of this cauldron here will land detention for a week. In the dungeons. Though, Tom," he said in a very audible aside, "do be careful about what you drink from now on, will you now, my boy?" To Hermione's surprise, quite a few of the Ravenclaw and Slytherin girls tittered also. She could barely conceal her derision.

Now that her timetable had changed, her breaks which she spent at the library, inevitably coincided with Riddle's. She was surprised to see that he spent as much time there as she did. He kept using her favourite spot, however, so she was forced to sit elsewhere. Often she sat at one of the large shared tables or at a quiet desk lodged at the end of a row of bookshelves. 

* * *

It was eleven a.m. and she had just finished Transfiguration. Riddle hardly spoke to her, or looked at her in class. The feeling was mutual and she was happy that their interactions would remain extremely minimal. Glancing around her in the library, she was surprised to see that there were quite a few people there already. She supposed people had finally woken up to the fact that exams were approaching.

Walking in the narrow space between the bookshelves, she stopped when she heard a noise. It was a strange hissing, guttural sound that made the nape of her neck prickle in a very odd way. She felt a slight rumble through the floor beneath her feet. Then silence.

Frowning, she searched for where she had heard the sound. It seemed as if it was coming from over there, in the back corner, where her favourite place used to be …

She swallowed a cough as she squeezed between the bookshelves, inhaling the thick dust. The desk was empty, she realised. Riddle wasn't there, for the first time this week it seemed. So where had the sound come from?

After looking around for a while, she decided that since Riddle was gone, she would study here till lunch.

Dumping her bag on the floor, she levitated her Transfiguration homework out of it and onto the desk. She was about to bring out her ink and quill also when she spotted something carved on the wooden floorboards beside the desk. It was a symbol, no bigger than a Galleon. She leaned down to inspect it closely. She was almost certain it had never been there previously.

The image was of a twisting serpent, its forked tongue flickering, its long body wound around the stem of a lit candle.

How strange, she thought. Vandalism was not uncommon, but they were usually words, sometimes obscene words, or names. Never intricate symbols. If it hadn't been done by hand, it had to have been carved by a very skilled wizard or witch, for the symbol was detailed. There were tiny diamond-shaped grooves on the snake and the flame of the candle looked like it was almost flickering.

Humming to herself, she turned back to her homework.

She worked diligently for an hour, absorbed in her research. So focused was she, that she did not see Riddle appear out of nowhere behind her.

"Miss Granger. I thought we had an arrangement."

Startled, she jumped up out of her chair and turned around.

He looked furious. But also, she couldn't quite place it, perhaps … shocked? No, that was too strong an emotion. She could not tell.

"Well, no one said you owned this part of the library. I only let you take my spot because I was avoiding you," she replied coolly, recovering from her initial surprise.

"Let me?" He repeated, very calmly.

"Yes."

"I see."

He said nothing else, just looked at her.

Hermione wondered how it was possible that a face could be so unreadable. His eyes were dark and he held her gaze with a certain amount of intensity, but they also revealed nothing. Rather like looking into a very still body of water. Perhaps, it was so disconcerting because he was also standing perfectly still.

Not knowing what to say, Hermione turned around and sat back down. She picked up her quill and continued to write, ignoring the feeling that he was behind her, watching her. She stayed there for a half-hour and when she packed up her things to go to lunch, she turned around to see that he had left. Of course he had. But she felt as if she had been watched the entire time.

* * *

At meal times, over the next week, she noticed him glancing her way a couple of times. The last time she had caught him doing it, he surprised her by giving her a brief smile before turning back to his conversation with Abraxas Malfoy.

It unsettled her deeply.

* * *

Meanwhile, James kept trying to talk to her. He cornered her between classes, sat next to her in the Great Hall, waited for her in the common room in the morning and in the evening. She usually escaped by walking quickly away and ignoring him. Finally, she snapped.

"Oh James. What is it?"

She pinned her hair back into a bun, disgruntled, as they both left the common room and made their way to breakfast.

He surprised her by catching her arm and spinning her so she faced him.

"Look, Hermione. No, listen! I … it's true, I said a lot of things to make you like me. But- no, Hermione, listen, please!" he begged. Biting her lip, Hermione let him continue.

"To be honest, I didn't understand half the things you said. You're far more intelligent than I am. But I said those things because I didn't want you to think that- that I was stupid. I really like you. And not in the way Sirius liked Isobel, or Beatrice."

He swallowed, his face flushing but did not avert his gaze. He held her with both hands on her small shoulders. There was an expression of such intensity and vulnerability on his face that Hermione felt herself relent.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

She paused, taking it in.

James was handsome in a way that Riddle wasn't. Riddle was handsome, yes, tall and lithe, with neat hair and fingernails, and a face that was always so poised, so calm and neutral. Unconsciously, she found herself examining James, for the first time. He was tall also, but had the broad-shoulders of an athlete. His skin was a light golden brown, his sandy hair slightly long and always tousled _just so_. He was Gryffindor's star Seeker, the youngest in a century when he had joined in first year. Before he had approached her that first time in the library, she had only ever seen him with Sirius and Remus and the rest of his Quidditch mates. Rugged, boyish. Alien.

But all that did nothing to abate her sudden confusion.

"James. I don't know what you want."

He smiled, bravely. "I want us to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend."

"A date?"

"Yes."

She sighed, folding her arms. "I like being friends, James."

"Me too. Just come with me to Hogsmeade. Don't be mad at me anymore."

"I'm not mad. I was … I was upset."

He reached forward as if to hug her. But instead, he brushed her hair out of her face, tucking the strands behind her ear. "Sorry," he said, regretfully.

At that, she felt the last of her inhibitions fall away. She allowed him to lead her into the Great Hall, his arm around her shoulders.

* * *

"I was here first."

"That is not important. It's _mine._ "

" _Yours?_ Where is the slightest shred of evidence that the Room of Requirement is _yours_ , Riddle?"

"It's mine because I found it. I alone know its secrets."

"I know them too. Which, by your logic, makes me co-owner at least."

They were arguing, as they had been for some time already, beside the blank stone wall on the seventh floor.

"I'm very certain you do not know all its secrets, Granger."

"Oh? How so?"

He cocked his head to one side, looking at her impassively. After a beat, he said, "I'm positive."

Hermione threw up her hands in disbelief. She paced beside the wall. "Fine. Let's do it this way. We ask the Room of Requirement to give us two rooms, entirely separated."

She almost could not hide her gasp when she felt a hand close around her upper arm like a vice.

"No."

Looking up at his still inscrutable face, she said rather impatiently, "Why?"

"Because. I do not share."

In the silence, Hermione wrenched her arm away. Shaking her finger at him, gripping her wand in the other hand, she enunciated her next words very carefully.

"If you touch me again, I will set your hair on fire."

What she had not expected was for him to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh. It was not the light charming chuckle he reserved for their professors. Far from it. It was deep and throaty and the sound echoed loudly in the corridor. His eyes, for a moment, flashed quite mischievously.

Hermione could not recover from her shock. It was as if he had torn away his face to reveal another, one that was much more alive, and fiercer. His laughter had been so unsettling because it had sounded genuine, for the first time. She wondered if she was seeing the real Tom Riddle. Or if this was also another mask, designed to unnerve her.

"Oh, Granger. You amuse me greatly." He paused to laugh again.

"However, I," she said pointing to herself, "am not amused."

Riddle had stopped laughing but he looked at her with some mirth still shining in his eyes.

"I won't have you take my sanctuary away from me," she continued. "We must share or I'll …" she hesitated, "I'll tell everyone all about it."

"No, you won't," he said, in an infuriatingly calm and assured way.

"Yes. It only takes one person to know …"

"You won't tell a single soul because you value the Room as much as I do."

"I-"

At that, Hermione snapped her jaws shut, trembling angrily.

"What do you use it for?" he inquired.

"Books. Reading. And hiding from annoying pests like yourself," she replied.

He folded his arms across his chest and leant against the wall, amused still. "That's almost exactly what I do."

"What else do you do then?"

He didn't reply, only continued to look at her.

Hermione was about to speak again when he said, "Stay away on Friday evenings. Any other time, whoever is first may use the Room."

She nodded.

"And, Granger," he said, advancing on her, already fast assuming his usual, calm self, aside from the cold bite of his words, "I mean it when I say _stay away_ on Friday evenings."

On that menacing note, he left her, speechless and alone on the seventh floor.


	3. Good news - update 2019

Hello everyone,

It's been two years now and I just rediscovered my fanfiction account after someone sent me a message and it popped up in my emails. Thanks to everyone who read my two measly chapters and I'm sorry that I stopped updating :(

GOOD NEWS!

I will be updating the story and continuing it in 2019! I'm working on the next chapter now.

To those who initially read the story, if they are still around on FanFiction, and to any new readers, I'd like to ask what you think about Riddle's character so far. I'm considering re-writing a chapter or so.

Cheers,

piquant-eye


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's note:**

Can't deny I'm a little self-conscious, I haven't sat down to write in a while. I hope you enjoy it and please let me know if you did! Your comments are very encouraging, thank you to those who reviewed, followed or favourited. I pulled through this one because of you :)

* * *

 **The Limits of Power**

 **-Chapter 3**

* * *

During Herbology the next day, Hermione was contemptuously reminded by her Slytherin partner, Malory Foghorn, to put on her dragon-hide gloves as they were handling a particularly poisonous species of Leaping Toadstool, known to cause painful cysts and disfiguring warts. The colour of the large domed cap was striking, a deep luminous purple with an almost velvet-like sheen. It was one of the more alluring and exotic species they had worked with that year. It also leapt quite high and one had to catch it by the stem and hold on tightly while it wriggled.

They were working in greenhouse number five, one of the larger greenhouses reserved for sixth and seventh years and situated closest to the Forbidden Forest. Weak early morning sunlight slipped through the dirty panes and gently touched the endless assorted plants and tubers. The greenhouse was large enough that there were several sizeable trees that reached the ceiling. Amidst them were shrubs with white star-shaped flowers, giant swaying fly traps, ancient twisted roots rising like claws out of pots and long rustling curtains of ivy. The far end of the greenhouse was dark and shadowy, no one liked to venture too close to that part. Vines and branches were known to wrap around limbs or lash out, leaving red welts that would last all day.

Hermione was being a little absentminded today, if she was honest. It was rare that Malory of all people would have to remind her about something so trivial as wearing gloves. At breakfast Hermione may have even tried to pour pumpkin juice directly onto the table (luckily, Remus had stopped her in time).

She watched Malory attempting to catch a toadstool as it leapt wickedly out of a bucket. Seizing it with some difficulty and blowing strands of dark hair away from her face, she handed it to Hermione who took it carefully, admiring its colour once again.

The Room of Requirement. What could Riddle possibly be doing there on Friday evenings? And what did he know about it that she didn't? She wondered if she could surreptitiously figure out these things but recalled Riddle's implicit threat about staying away. Of yesterday, she remembered most the look of his eyes. Hard, almost black, unblinking.

Eavesdropping on the Room would be impossible, she would actually have to be in it. However, that would mean entering the Room _before_ Riddle. Which was impossible, since she wouldn't know what he would request.

Malory screamed as the toadstool Hermione had been holding suddenly flew up into the air, missing the Slytherin's nose by a hair. It bounced away exuberantly before being caught by a disapproving Professor Whittle. Hermione received the five point deduction from Gryffindor with only a little bit of regret, the look on Malory's face had been almost worth it.

* * *

Before dinner was served in the Great Hall, there was an announcement. Professor Dumbledore would be leaving Hogwarts for an extended period of travel. Rumours and whispers scuttled over the tables until Professor Mortlake, a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, cleared his throat loudly, casting a glare that stifled most of the whispering amongst the assembled students. Headmaster Dippet's mild attempts to hush the Hall had been mostly ignored.

"Off to fight Grindelwald, I expect," whispered Sirius to James.

"Students, please. Professor Flitwick will be taking over Charms for the sixth and seventh years. Classes are to resume as normal." Dippet paused. "I understand that this may be a difficult time for a few of you who have relatives in Germany. The international wizarding community is united in condemning the massacre at Lubeck and the Ministry has sent additional Aurors to aid the Germans on the eastern front. I ask that those of you who are distressed speak to their Heads of House and I ask also that all of you remain supportive of each other. You are all safe here in Hogwarts, do not be afraid."

"My father says Dumbledore is the only wizard who could defeat Grindelwald. The Ministry has been calling upon him for months now," Amelia whispered from across the table.

James looked worried. "Grindelwald has been gaining a lot of power in the last few months. He has already taken half of Germany and Austria. I read in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning that his spies already have a foothold in France."

Sirius whispered back eagerly, "Did you hear about what he did to the muggles in Nurmengard? Imperius'd the lot of them and made them slaughter one another with their bare hands. _Awful._ I heard also that-"

The goblets on the table jumped, slopping juice everywhere, as someone quite evidently had kicked Sirius under the table. Hermione felt their eyes on her.

James glared at Sirius and cleared his throat. "You're safe here, Hermione. You're the brightest witch of our generation, quite frankly I think you'd be safer than all of us let alone ol' Numb Nuts over here," he said, nudging his head towards Sirius who bit his lip, looking contrite.

The atmosphere of hushed whispers continued the next day. Amongst the Slytherins, it was less an atmosphere of worry than intrigue, Hermione quickly found. Abraxas Malfoy was reprimanded harshly in History of Magic by Professor Binns after he was overheard saying, "Look it's the method rather than the motive, to be honest. Why take so long to capture Nurmengard and announce your plans to the whole world?"

It had been quite shocking to witness, Professor Binns' reprimand that is. Normally so monotone, the Professor who never ever seemed to notice the chatter or the flying pieces of paper or the loud snoring of bored students (James and Sirius were frequent culprits), that very same Professor looked up sharply from his notes as soon as those words left Malfoy's mouth. The sudden absence of his droning voice made the room go silent and a few students had sat up from their slumped positions in alarm.

"Fifty points from Slytherin for sheer ignorance," said Binns, looking sternly at Malfoy who paled.

Hermione also did not miss Malfoy's glance at Riddle who did not return the look.

"If you were a true student of magical history, as you should be if you are to be an even moderately competent wizard, Mr Malfoy, you would understand the depravity of Grindelwald's crimes and how deeply they undermine the wizarding cause."

After a few more moments of shocked silence, Binns resumed his lecture as usual. However, his eyes were no longer so bleary-looking and his usually mild voice was slightly louder in Hermione's imagination. No one dared to fall asleep for the rest of the lesson.

* * *

In the days following, Hermione could not even walk to class by herself without James or one of his friends offering to accompany her. Apparently, Greta Bailey, the other muggle-born witch in Gryffindor, had been Jelly Jinxed by someone in the Charms corridor recently. No one had been caught but Gryffindors swore up and down that it had been Slytherin fourth year, Bella Nox. As a result, the Room of Requirement was her only time to be truly alone.

As Hermione walked to the seventh floor after dinner, carrying her books on her hip, she remembered suddenly that it was a Friday. She halted mid-stride. Indecision gripped her. She had not talked to Riddle since that day, aside from some polite exchanges in class and collaboration in Potions, where they were frequently put together as partners. Surely he didn't mean every Friday evenings? Nothing of note had occurred since their last conversation outside the Room, except that his cronies, Malfoy, Lestrange and the rest, were frequently appearing in class quite tired. Lestrange had yawned so much in Herbology the other day that Professor Whittle had been displeased, remarking that yawning openly was rude, had his parents not taught him so?

A slight rumbling sound as a door materialised made her jump. She hurriedly cast a Disillusionment spell and slid into the shadows behind the bust of Nemor the Great. Two boys climbed out. They were seventh years. Shortly after, two more, this time fifth years. More and more, perhaps seven more in total, came out of the Room of Requirement, in twos and threes. One of them, who had the unmistakable blonde hair of Abraxas Malfoy, seemed to be walking awkwardly as if his shoes didn't fit quite properly, or as if he had stretched a calf muscle. Finally, the tall figure of Riddle stepped out and the door disappeared. He looked around him once, then quietly disappeared down the end of the corridor.

Hermione silently let out the breath she had been holding.

So there were more people who knew about the Room. Was it a club of some sort? It was unlikely to be a reading club, as Lestrange had been one of them and he was about as likely to read a book as she was to join the Quidditch team.

What were those Slytherin boys up to?

Hermione felt herself becoming more interested against her better judgement.

* * *

"Would you like a peach?" Sirius offered.

"No, no thank you Sirius."

"What are you offering her a peach for?"

"Just thought she might fancy a snack, alright? She hasn't eaten all day."

James turned to Hermione, raising an eyebrow. "You haven't eaten all day?"

Sirius answered instead. "Yeah James. She wasn't at breakfast, remember?"

"Why not?" James asked. They were walking to Hogsmeade together, Remus and Nuben trailing behind, slogging through the mud and snow. Nuben made some joke about Quaffles and geese, and Remus could be heard chuckling loudly.

"Oh I was in the library, I had to do some research before class." Hermione had actually spent the night at the library, searching for any references to a Room of Requirement in all the books about Hogwarts and its history. She had fallen asleep between the bookshelves sometime around four o'clock and had missed breakfast as a result. But she wasn't about to admit that. A few pillows under her bedcovers the day before and a spell to cloak her footsteps had been sufficient to not arouse any suspicion. Argus Filch, the caretaker, usually only patrolled until midnight and seldom went into the library. Although, Hermione hadn't actually meant to spend so much time there. Sheer frustration had made her keep looking and looking. No books, not one, mentioned any room on the seventh floor. It was confounding.

"Honestly," Sirius was saying. "You call yourself her boyfriend, do you. _Honestly._ "

"Shut up," said James, his cheeks reddening.

"Don't worry James, I'm fine. We can have lunch in Hogsmeade. And no, Sirius. He is not my _boyfriend_."

"Well, James may not be _your_ boyfriend but you are definitely _his_ girlfriend from the way he goes on about you."

"Shut up, you arse!"

Sirius burst into laughter as James launched his bag at him.

"What's this about James' girlfriend?" Remus piped up from behind.

"You mean Hermione?" said Nuben, chortling.

The sound of their laughter intensified as James picked up a ball of snow and threw it squarely in Sirius' face. Hermione laughed too, she couldn't help it.

By the time they reached Hogsmeade, they were about ready for a nice hot mug of butterbeer and Madame Roberta's famous egg sandwiches at the Three Broomsticks.

Hogsmeade always looked like a postcard, especially in winter. The thatched cottages and shops were dusted with snow and wreaths hung from each door. The sky was cold and grey, the air crisp, but the warm yellow light of candles from behind the merry window panes invitingly lit up the cobbled streets outside. Unsurprisingly, the Three Broomsticks was full of people. Squeezing their way past a woman with a bent hat, who was cackling merrily, they found a table next to the stairs.

While Sirius went off to get drinks (and chat up Madame Roberta, as they all suspected), James pulled out a chair for Hermione and they sat down, tugging off their gloves, grateful for the warmth of the fireplace nearby.

Remus pulled something out of his pocket. "Look what I found," he said, grinning.

Out of James' group of friends, Remus was the odd one out. He did not play Quidditch like the rest and did not even seem to like it. Usually quiet in class, he was a slight boy with light brown hair; he looked thoughtful most of the time and also often looked quite tired, with deep bags under his eyes. Hermione often found him sleeping with a book in his hand in the Gryffindor common room surrounded by the rest of the gang. The boys frequently disappeared together after classes, although where to Hermione did not know.

A cough from James brought her attention to the object on the wooden table before them.

"What is it?" James asked.

"It's Zabini's ring, of course." Blaise Zabini was a Slytherin in their year, a dark haired boy who had inherited his looks from his rather infamously beautiful mother.

Bemused, Hermione picked it up. It was pretty for a ring. Finely wrought gold, with an intricate scale-like pattern on the band. Looking closer, she saw that the band was the body of a snake, its head curled round to rest near a glittering black jewel, as if it was guarding it jealously. She had never seen Zabini wear this ring before.

"Are you sure it's Zabini's? I don't see his family crest on it anywhere."

"Well he dropped it on his way out of the bathroom. It's strange isn't it?"

"What's strange?" asked Sirius, who had reached their table with five enormous mugs floating behind him.

"Moony here stole Zabini's ring," Nuben said, reaching out a large hand to seize the handle of the closest mug. He took a long drink and then spluttered, roaring, "Sirius! This isn't butterbeer you fool." Sirius thumped him on the back, grinning ear to ear.

"I know. I managed to get us something stronger."

"I didn't steal it, he dropped it."

"Uh-huh," said Sirius, throwing back his head and downing his mug in one.

"I didn't. But anyway, you're all missing the point. Look on the inside of the band."

Indeed there was something there, an inscription. Looking closer, Hermione discovered a series of complex runes.

"That _is_ interesting," she remarked, unable to contain her fascination.

Remus smiled. "Can you translate it, Hermione?"

"I could try. They aren't runes we've studied before. They seem different."

"Let me have a look," said Sirius, his face suddenly grave.

Hermione handed him the ring and watched as he started to frown. Sirius took out his wand and muttered for a while under his breath. Nothing happened.

"Well?" asked Remus, expectantly.

"It's a Dark ring, no doubt. Black diamonds are commonly used in Dark magic but it doesn't seem cursed, I checked." Hermione remembered that the Blacks were a family oft associated with the Dark Arts and rumoured to have a large repository of Dark artefacts. They were one of the biggest patrons of Borgin and Burkes in Diagon Alley. It also explained why Sirius seemed to know an uncanny amount of dangerous hexes and spells.

"You shouldn't have picked it up, Remus," Sirius was saying.

Remus shrugged.

"Well, no harm done, I guess," said James.

Hermione tried to give Remus back the ring but he seemed to have lost all interest in it. "Nah, hold on to it. Figure out what the runes say and tell us."

"Won't Zabini be looking for it?" asked Hermione.

The boys shrugged. "He's a prick, let him fret," said Sirius, ordering some sandwiches from a passing barmaid.

"Probably has a lot more of these rings, the nancy. I bet he has more jewellery than most girls," James added. He watched as Hermione turned the ring over in her hands, admiring the dark glittering diamond.

"Are you going to drink yours?" Nuben interrupted. He gestured to her mug.

"Depends. Is it Firewhiskey?"

"Maybe."

She hesitated. "Ah well," she said. She picked it up and downed it in one go. It went down her throat like liquid flames but had a pleasant aftertaste of honey and spice.

Nuben clapped.

"That's my girl," said Sirius, beaming.

James looked at her, his mouth had fallen open. Then he smiled and leaning back, let out a loud chuckle. "You surprise me more and more, Hermione," he said fondly.

Hermione blushed. She could feel the heat of the Firewhiskey in her stomach. She had no idea why she had decided to drink it all in one go. For the rest of the afternoon, as Sirius kept ordering more 'butterbeers', the last of her reservations started to slip away. For the first time in a long while, she found herself smiling more often and enjoying their company. For too long she had been a recluse in the library, she decided. Perhaps this is what people meant when they told her to "lighten up". She did indeed feel lighter, less weighed down by her own preoccupying thoughts. The boys also no longer seemed like rough-and-tumble idiots. Their laughter and merry-making was quite contagious. Nuben, she realised, was actually a very gentle character despite his six foot three frame, boulder-like shoulders and brutishly large hands. There was some brain behind all that brawn and it was apparent in his frequent witticisms as he bantered with Sirius. James was clearly just as cheeky and mischievous as Sirius but he seemed to try and restrain himself at times. He looked frequently at her as they talked, the edges of his lips turned up in a small smile. He ran his hand through his hair continuously as he and Sirius teased her about the embroidered badge on her uniform that proclaimed: S.P.E.W. Previously she had found that habit of his irritating, but now she liked the almost self-conscious way that he did it.

Perhaps that was why when James all too casually slung his arm around her waist a while later as they were chatting, she let it stay.

* * *

On one of those rare days that Hermione was able to study at her favourite spot in the library, she spent extra time there just for the sheer pleasure of reading a book in peace. After many hours, she finally finished the last page of _A_ _History of 15th Century Wizarding Europe_ and closed the heavy tome with a sigh of satisfaction. The sun was setting magnificently over the Quidditch pitch, its golden eye winking between the stands. She could see a few Gryffindor players flying about on their broomsticks, they were still practising. James was probably there, too.

Hermione stood up to get another book, this time to borrow. Her fingers trailed along the dusty spines. The books were very old with faded lettering. Suddenly she came to a book that looked like it had been taken out recently. The dust on the shelf was disturbed and the book itself was much cleaner than the rest. It was quite thick with ornate metal clasps. The title was faded but it read, _Magical Abilities of Faussian Reptiles._ As she started to put the book back, she paused. There was a familiar marking at the back of the bookshelf where the book had been, similar to the one she had found on the floor beside the desk. However, whilst that one had been no bigger than a Galleon, this was much larger, the size of her hand. It was much more intricate and it wasn't just an engraving, either. It was painted. The snake was a beautiful dark green, its scales almost gleaming. The flame of the candle which the snake had wound its body around seemed almost real, it flickered and swayed as if there was an invisible breeze. As she looked, suddenly the snake began to move. It raised its head and its tongue darted out of its mouth, tasting the air. It turned towards her.

Hermione pulled out her wand, the skin on the back of her neck prickling. She raised it slowly and touched the painting with the tip of her wand. Instantly, the image began to glow. It pulsed once, twice. Then all of a sudden the whole section of shelves shimmered and disappeared before her eyes. In their place was a recessed archway and beyond it, pitch black nothingness. There were a set of stairs leading down.

Hesitantly she stepped into the darkness, gripping her wand tightly.

" _Lumos._ "

The steps led down to another archway which she walked through, not without some amount of trepidation.

She found herself in a large hall, perhaps half the size of the Great Dining Hall. Two rows of thick marble pillars lined the way to a statue at the end of the hall and within the deep alcoves created by the pillars were large shelves full of books. It was like a cold stone library, as silent as a crypt.

Excited and curious, she walked towards the statue. It was a bearded wizard seated on a throne. As she came closer she saw that the green marble of the statue was rough and pitted by the passage of time. The wizard's beard was long and trailed to the edges of his ornate robes. His eyebrows were arched and thin, his nose long and the turn of his mouth, cruel. He held a staff in one hand and the other gripped the arm of his chair.

Hermione shivered involuntarily. The hall was so quiet. It smelled of old parchment and lantern oil.

"Granger."

Hermione whirled around.

Riddle stood behind her, hands in his pockets. He did not look pleased.


End file.
